Stories Beginning in 'A'
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: My collection of short stories for the Story-A-Day Contest, spanning the month of October. Daily updates. SLASH HET FEMSLASH Assorted and Rare  Pairings
1. Chapter 1

BLOODY IMPORTANT: I am writing these for a month-long drabble challenge. Updates will be between 100-1000 words, as per regulations. Whoever gets the most reviews wins, so, well, review. Please. I beg you! I am super competitive and _need to win. _

**Absurd**

"Luna, that is completely absurd!" aware that he was raising his voice, Harry took a deep breath before finishing, "I mean, honestly. That can't possibly be true. There has to be some kind of mistake."

Luna was unmoved by this, and simply shrugged. Harry groaned and ran his palm over his face, stopping it over his mouth. He looked wearily at the research she'd put on his desk (it was scented and written in rainbow ink), and then back at her. She was as impassive as ever as she solemnly ate biscuits out of his private tin. He snatched it back from her, scowling, and stuffed three in his mouth at once. His thoughts gathered into a dark storm of disbelief over his head as he chewed.

Finally, he exploded, "I don't care what your research says, its bollocks!"

She shrugged a shoulder, "Facts are facts, Harry."

"I am aware of that. But you can hardly call a few personality tests and some 'background research', as you put it, proof. Of anything, not just this."

Emotion flickered through her eyes for the first time that morning, "Harry, are you saying that my life's work, simply because I applied it to yourself, is now worthless?"

"No…no, Christ Luna, that is not what I meant at all-"

She was standing and gathering her things, face unreadable.

"Luna, please don't be like this."

Pausing just inside the doorway and doing up the daisy-shaped buttons of her cardigan, she stated, "It is not my fault that you're in denial. Draco Malfoy is a very respectable person now and there is nothing wrong with you being secretly in love with him. I'm sure he'd be happy to go on a date with you if you told him you fancied him."

Harry groaned and put his face in his hands.

The door shut with a faint tinkling of bells behind her.

~000~

End Absurd


	2. Chapter 2

**Anniversary**

Bill and Harry were having a moment.

Harry was dimly aware that is it inappropriate to have a 'moment' with your brother-in-law on his anniversary, but he was also dimly aware that the nose job was invented for people like Snape. Basically, he wasn't paying particular attention to clever observations just then.

He'd had too much to drink. He always seemed to be drinking too much lately, though he usually didn't do anything too embarrassing when in his cups. And compared to Ginny he was practically sober in comparison to her, so he supposed it didn't really matter.

Buzzed and feeding off of the pleasant feeling he always got at Weasley family get-togethers, he'd gone upstairs to Ginny's old room for a solitary smoke with a bottle of champagne. He'd brought a whole crate with him, so no one could tell him he was being a pig. Her room was dark and a little musty.

It was evening now, the summer sun finally setting and giving way to a reddish dusk.

He turned on the lamp on the dressing table and sat cross legged on the floor by the window, pulling it open. He'd worked his way through four sticks of his secret habit when he saw something strange out in the night.

There was a tiny red spark advancing from the farther end of the house in the pitch darkness. He craned his ears but heard no footsteps, and could see nothing but the spark. It travelled along the night; passed the window by which he was settled and stopped opposite the bedroom window to rest against the side of the garage. He presumed there was a person attached to the end of the spark, though there was no glimmer as to their identityHe p.

He was suddenly aware that, because the lamp was burning on the dressing table, whoever was out there could no doubt see him quite clearly.

Self-conscious, he rose to turn it off but was stopped when the spark moved close and Bill Weasley came into view. Without speaking, he clambered inside the window and sat on Ginny's old bed. It had a quilt with cats on it.

The moment occurred when Harry looked at Bill and Bill looked at Harry at just the same time. Bill had blue eyes. Harry wondered why he'd never noticed that before. They were so bright, like July skies.

It felt like forever, but Bill's eyes eventually slid to the bottle of still-fizzy champagne.

"Would you like some?" Harry offered, his voice softer than usual. There was a stillness, a tentative quietude in the room now, and he didn't want to disturb it by speaking too loud. Billy nodded and took the bottle when it was held out to him. He drank from the neck and looked at Harry again.

Harry watched him swallow, oddly mesmerized. He didn't talk to Bill often. They had a substantial age gap and Bill didn't live in Turkey, where Harry and Ginny had made their home for the past three years. Bill handed it back, and their hands touched. Harry didn't pull away, and neither did Bill. Bill closed his hand around his wrist and used it to pull Harry close.

Standing between spread knees, cigarette dangling, forgotten, in a pair of lax fingers, he stared into those blue, blue eyes.

Bill's breathing was uneven and there was something in his eyes that Harry had never seen before. His breath caught in his throat when Bill took the bottle and set in on the floor without looking away. Next he took his cigarette, stubbed it out in his palm, and tossed it into the metal waste bin, a pink affair covered with Quidditch stickers. Harry didn't know why he did it, but he lightly rested his hands on Bill's shoulders.

Blue eyes smiled at him and then a hand on his hip guided him down to sit on his knee.

"You…"

Harry trailed off, not knowing what he was going to say. Bill took away any chance he might have had of remembering it by kissing him.

If they awoke side by side the next morning, no one else noticed and they never spoke of it again.

~000~

End Anniversary


	3. Chapter 3

**Aggressive**

Hermione was an intuitive and methodical researcher, diligent, conscientious and unsentimental, all invaluable qualities in her field. You could even say that she was aggressive when it came to her many myriad projects. It was rumored around the Ministry Dept. of Magical Research that she didn't have a boyfriend, much less a husband, because no man could withstand the force of her mind.

Hermione ignored these rumors when they wafted her way. She knew damn well how to get a man. She could write a book on the subject if she wanted to. In fact, she'd dated some very famous men over the years; she had always been the one to lose interest first, not them. It wasn't their fault. It was simply that she found her work more stimulating.

But now, after having a nervous break-down two days after completing a record-breaking 37 simultaneous projects, she was forced away from the job she loved for an entire week and commanded to 'have a holiday'.

Have a holiday? The nerve of some people! That Dept. would collapse without her in three days at the very latest, and she wasn't allowed back in for an entire solid _week? _

This was unacceptable, but her superior (in experience only; he'd long ago admitted that she surpassed him in every field except that) and friend Wilfred Searle said that he would do his level best to hold down the fort without her and reassured her that this forced holiday was only so that she could rest. They couldn't have her dropping dead on her feet in the middle of reading statistics only she understood, could they?

She somehow ended up in the local charity shop. Her original plan had been to go home and read all those books people had bought her for Christmas over the years that she didn't have time to read, but on her way to the grocery store she noticed something that had escaped her previously. Normally her mind was so wrapped up in facts and figures and trying to draw correlations between them that she paid only the bare minimum of attention to her surroundings.

It was a charity shop, and there was a sign in the window asking for volunteers. She donated regularly to large charities, such as the War Orphan's Trust, but if she could actually do some volunteering in person...it would be a new and valuable experience.

She stepped inside and smiled at the maroon-dressed lady behind the counter.

"Hello! I saw the sign in front…" she trailed off. Another woman had emerged from the back room, tall as a man and just as broad-shouldered. Her dark hair was cut short and rectangular-framed glasses added sophistication to a face that could never be feminine. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with illegible words half-peeled off.

It was none other than Millicent Bulstrode, the girl who'd bullied her as a child. The girl who'd disappeared after the War and never been seen again.

She looked nice.

"Janet, go have a break and don't come back until tomorrow. You've worked long enough today, yeah?" Her voice was deeper than Hermione remembered it, but the faint smell of cigarettes would explain that.

Janet smiled and exchanged some friendly words with Millicent before gathering her things and slipping out the door. Hermione was left alone with Millicent. Millicent raised an eyebrow, obviously unfazed by their reunion, and asked, "How long can you work for? I'll take what I can get."

"Oh…um, I have the whole week before I can go back to work. I'm on a break for my health…"

Millicent held up a hand, "Spare me the details. Can you work in those shoes?"

Hermione decided that she could get her groceries that night and nodded. Millicent jerked her head at some boxes stuffed with donations and showed her how to price and tag them. Hermione sat on a three-legged chair and got to work. Millicent handled customers and sent Hermione out for coffee once, but otherwise they didn't speak. Hermione was a little shocked at how Millicent had developed as a person. She never knew her well at Hogwarts of course, but she'd always thought she was unpleasant. It became obvious that this was not the case. Though quiet and often brusque, Millicent had a heart that looked more golden every hour.

Two days was all it took for her curiosity to overcome her. "Millicent?"

"Hm?" she didn't look up from her knitting.

"Why did you bully me in school?"

"I have my days of perversity like any other person. That and I fancied you and just wanted you to pay attention to me."

Hermione choked. Millicent asked her out on Friday and Hermione didn't go home that night, or for the rest of the weekend for that matter. She found room in her schedule for Millicent when she was allowed back at work.

Six months later she wasn't sure quite how it'd happened, but she was in love with Millicent. It probably had a lot to do with the discovery that Millicent was just as aggressive as she was, and didn't give a 'flying fuck how busy she was'. Millicent also was not above guerilla attacks, and Hermione grew to both dread and anticipate Millicent's many plot to get her to take half-days and weekends off.

Harry nearly had a heart attack when she told him, but he was polite to Millicent's face and that was more than could be said for Ron.

~000~

End Aggressive


	4. Chapter 4

**Accident**

Neville had always been clumsy. He wasn't sure if he was born that way or if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy courtesy of his Gran. She was always going on about his butter fingers and duck feet for as long as he could remember. As a clumsy person, he'd grown accustomed to little injuries that he didn't remember getting and for a seemingly-endless stream of embarrassment and humiliation. And then there were the little accidents.

The most obvious example of Neville and his accidents was in Potions class way back at school. Those accidents weren't so little, though. Because of his 'abominable lack of progress', he'd had his first experience with Theodore Nott.

Theo was a good tutor, for a Slytherin. He was patient and explained things, unlike Hermione, who assumed that everyone knew everything she knew. Despite Theo's efforts, Neville's work in Potions improved only marginally and he never advanced far in that subject.

They nodded to each other in the halls, but otherwise had no further contact. That is, they had none until Neville was 23 years old and looking for a competent assistant to help him in the large greenhouse he owned and operated. His plants were his babies, the only things that he was never clumsy or careless with. He wanted an assistant would see them the same way, and not simply as bits of greenery that needed to be harvested and bundled.

Three girls tried out for the position, girls he knew admired him for his acts of heroism during the war. He felt bad turning them down, but that wasn't the kind of 'help' he wanted. An elderly man applied, and Neville couldn't turn him away even though this meant he would have to hire two assistants instead of one. He turned away almost 30 hopefuls before Theodore Nott came strolling into his office, which was really more a shed filled with shovels and supplies with a desk shoved in the corner.

"Hello, Longbottom. I heard through the grapevine that you needed an assistant that knew how to muck about with plants the proper way."

His voice was a tad deeper now, but practically the same. Theo always spoke a little slower than other people and carefully enunciated each letter with care. He spoke the way Neville remembered he would set up and explain ingredients, gently handling each one like it was made of delicate glass.

And he knew he was perfect for the job.

The accident happened months after they'd settled into an easy trio, with Humphrey pottering around the greenhouse looking busy while really doing nothing and Neville and Theo working side by side.

Neville had been moving one of the larger terracotta pots without magic from one end of the front greenhouse to the other, thinking himself alone because he was there an hour early, when Theo came out of nowhere to help him. Neville didn't see him, tripped over the rounded toe of Theo's foot, and crashed on top of him, pot and all.

When Neville dared to open his eyes to examine the damage, Theo seemed nonplussed but otherwise unharmed. Neville was on top of him, his knee a bare inch from Theo's crotch. They both glanced down and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Neville made to get up, but one of Theo's square hands came up to flick bits of terracotta out of his hair. Neville swallowed, suddenly feeling a tension behind their position that he had purposely ignored previously. Theo's hand stopped cleaning him and slipped down the side of his face to just rest on his jaw, thumb resting gently on his cheek.

The ball was in Neville's court. He could either brush this off as nothing, or he could…

He lowered his face cautiously, stopping every inch to search Theo's eyes. They were slate blue in the early morning dim and as unreadable as ever. One side of his lips was curved up, and noticing that was all it took to give Neville the courage he needed to bend down and connect their lips.

Humphrey chose then to totter in, and promptly fainted at the sight of them.

"Shit!" Theo cursed, scrambling out from under Neville to go help him. Neville followed suit, wondering how he was going to explain this new development, whatever it was, to his elderly employee.

~000~

End Accident


	5. Chapter 5

**Akin**

Draco wasn't sure when, exactly, he started fancying Luna Lovegood of all people.

It wasn't back at school. He'd been too wrapped up with his own problems and concerns to notice her as anything but one of Potter's friends. It wasn't during the Post-War insanity, when he escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth.

It could have been the first day he stumbled across her café, a little pocket of warmth and perfectly-brewed coffee in the urban jumble of Muggle London, where he owned and operated an art gallery. He didn't know it was hers then, though. He only knew that any person that could brew coffee like this had to be an angel. And the pastries! He normally avoided things like pastry for the sake of his complexion and general health, but he'd indulged just that once and fallen even harder for this invisible goddess.

But the day it all really began was probably the day Luna came to the front of the café to ring him up instead of one of her employees. She smelled like jam and his receipt was a bit sticky when she handed it to him. He couldn't find fault with either of these things, too busy staring at her.

Out of all the original D.A. members, she had changed the least. Her eyes still had that misty look, as though she was somewhere very nice but very far away; intact was the petite fairy-like stature; her hair was dyed every color of the rainbow, predominantly pink and blue. She wore one of her queer outfits, though he wasn't complaining about this one. It consisted of several sheer under-slips layered on top of each other and a shawl. She wore no shoes, and flour dusted both her cheeks.

"Would you like some sugar in your coffee?" she grabbed the bowl and tongs, waiting.

He had no memories of what her voice sounded like, so he couldn't compare. He did notice right away that he liked it. It was soft and almost demure, with an air of carelessness that he appreciated, as though his answer meant nothing to her.

"Yes, please. Three."

She dropped one in and picked another. He took then as a good time to make conversation,

"Wait, aren't you Luna Lovegood? From school?"

She paused with the sugar tongs, listening. "Which school?"

He became aware that there was no way she wasn't playing with him, though her expression was as serene as ever. He smirked and was about to say something clever when a canary flew out of the back room and settled on her head. Luna set down the tongs, grabbed a piece of sugar with her fingers, and put it between her lips.

She got the bird to crawl all over her in an attempt to get at the piece of sugar between her lips. Draco watched all of this with attentive interest. He had never seen someone do anything like this before.

It may very well have been then that the fancying started in earnest. He came to her café three times a day now. Once early in the morning before he opened the gallery, once at lunch time, and lastly after he closed up the shop or rented it out for someone to display their work unsupervised. She would always find her way out of the back room when he came, somehow knowing the instant he crossed the threshold.

Their conversations were light duels, except he was dueling a cloud of mist. He didn't stand a chance of winning, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.

One evening he came into her shop later than usual to find it empty of other patrons; Luna came floating out of the back room with his usual cup of coffee and an extra saucer with a trio of biscuits on it.

"Excuse the mismatched saucers," she set them down in front of him and then took a seat across. He smiled and then asked if she was enjoying the lull in customers as a chance to get off her feet.

"Oh no, we're closed. We never have a lull when open."

He frowned, "You kept it open just for me? Doesn't that break some kind of "no favoritism to customers" rule?"

"It's best not to be too moral," she replied in her most solemn tone. He decided they were kindred spirits separated at birth. Before he could stop himself, he asked,

"What's your ring size?"

"Why?" she stole one of his biscuits, looking out the window at the rain pattering on the sidewalks.

He gave her an adoring dove-eyed look and replied, "Doesn't matter."

~000~

End Akin


	6. Chapter 6

**Attrition**

She jerked awake to the sound of her alarm clock playing Swan Lake and shut it off in one practiced move. And then her body caught up with her brain. Hermione groaned and fell back on the pillow, clutching her head in agony. Her mouth was as stale as a pub ashtray and her tongue was coated with the sour remains of last night's whiskey.

She knew that if she timed this correctly, she could have exactly 30 extra minutes of sleep if she didn't eat breakfast or do her usual picking up of last night's projects. She gathered the covers up around herself, idly noting that she was only wearing her blouse from last night and one sheer stocking. Rolling over, she prepared to go back to sleep.

The discovery of an unfamiliar mop of hair sticking out of a cocoon of blankets shocked her into full awareness, hangover or no hangover.

Oh god. Oh _fuck. _It'd been forever since she'd last gone out drinking, but some girls from the office had been trying to reach out to her, and she finally decided that her life was going to get empty fast if she kept being a social hermit. She'd obviously had too much, but what had happened after that? The evening following the point of no return was a clean slate in her memory.

Biting her lip, she debated whether or not it would be wise to disturb the covers and see who she'd gone home with. It could be a stranger, or maybe even a friend from the office that needed somewhere to crash. She closed her eyes. No, that wasn't likely. She was naked from the waist down and a little sore now that she was moving around. Something had _definitely _happened last night.

She looked down and spotted a love bite on her hip and stifled a groan. Why, oh why did she think whiskey was a good idea? Whiskey is never a good idea!

Peeling back the edge of the sheet with as much delicacy as she could muster, she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stifle her exclamation of shock. It was a woman. And not just any woman, either; it was Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy, Draco Malfoy's notorious ex-wife.

Hermione crept out of bed and got showered and dressed in record time. She didn't bother with make-up or even matching her socks. She just left as soon as possible, not wanting to contemplate what she would find when she came back that night.

The first person to dare to speak to her at work was Bessie, the Department's biggest gossip. "What's the matter with you?"

"An oppression of the spirit and a foul pressure upon the skull; in other words, I had a bit too much of the happy sauce last night."

"What was the occasion?" Bessie's eyes were alight with potential gossip fodder.

"I don't want to talk about it…" Hermione gulped her tea, topped up her mug with boiling water, and then slouched back to her office. Once inside, she sank to the floor against the back of her closed door and put her head between her knees, praying for some relief.

She could only hope that Ron would never, ever find out about this. He could handle her saying she needed space to get her career together, but going lesbian would just destroy his self-esteem forever.

Pansy showed up at her office an hour later with a bottle of Hangover Remedy and a shy smile. Another hour later and Hermione had ended up with a lap full of extremely willing Pansy, and given into temptation.

Her door burst open and they froze. There was a gasp, and then the door slammed shut and footsteps quickly receded.

"Shit, someone saw us necking," Pansy cursed, moving to scramble off of Hermione's lap. Hermione wouldn't let her, explaining,

"We've passed the point of no return now. Any attrition now is much too late."

~000~

End Attrition


	7. Chapter 7

**Addled**

Ron was positive that something had gone very wrong somewhere. It was supposed to be a guy's night out, a sort of reunion of room mates. But Neville wanted to bring his girlfriend, and Ron didn't know how to say no to that, and then Seamus and Dean turn out to be sickeningly in love.

That left him and Harry to sit at the bar while the two couples fooled around like teenagers in their booth. To make matters still worse, Harry had been off all night. He'd shown up with a fake smile on his face at first but with each drink that went down his throat it faded further to reveal a sadness that Ron didn't know how to deal with. He'd never known how to deal with Harry's sometimes inexplicable grief. Normally he left him alone until Harry sought him out, all smiles again. There was no such escape tonight.

He took a deep gulp of his…fourth beer? He didn't know how many he'd had. He could still see how upset Harry was and what a poor job he was doing of hiding it, so he decided he hadn't had nearly enough.

The couples took off at about eleven, no doubt to do things to one another that made Ron nauseous. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten any, but that was mostly his fault. He'd been the one to alienate Hermione to the point where she wouldn't even look at him anymore. He'd been the one to not flirt back with Dolly at the Auror Dept., even though she was about as subtle as an ax regarding what she wanted from him.

He wasn't interested, though. Some very beautiful women had come onto him lately, thanks to more digging on the part of the press that led to yet more war heroism revelations. He couldn't bring himself to accept their advances. There was something wrong with him all the time, now that he sat and thought about it.

He'd been, well, _addled _for ages. Chewing his thumb, he tried to think back to when it started.

It was the day Harry moved out of their shared flat and in with Ginny. He ran a hand over his face, seeing things so clearly now that he'd made that connection. They'd been drifting apart ever since that day and Ron knew Harry had started getting into his 'moods' far more often than usual. He chewed his lip and then softly slurred,

"Are things alright with you and Ginny?"

Harry mutely shook his head.

Ron impulsively pulled Harry's head onto his shoulder and tried to think of something comforting to say without compromising his manliness.

"We're breaking up," Harry whispered after some time, "She doesn't trust me; she thinks I'm cheating on her with every woman who so much as walks past. I don't think I even mind anymore. She makes me so miserable."

Ron hummed, still stumped for words.

"I've missed you, Ron. We barely see each other anymore. Ha, we thought going into the Auror training together meant we'd see each other every day. How long's it been this time?"

"Almost a month," Ron choked out, clarity connecting various mysterious thoughts and feelings. He had…he had…

He had _feelings _for Harry. And he'd been too stupid and busy and confused to see it. Now that he knew, the question was what to do about it. Biting his tongue, he slowly lowered his head to rest on top of Harry's. Harry put his hand on his knee, and Ron smiled. Harry wasn't as oblivious as he'd been in school.

"Ron…can I sleep at your place tonight? I don't want to go back to Ginny. She's angry that I went out with you guys tonight. She thinks I'm meeting another woman."

Ron smirked, "Well, you weren't meeting with a woman, now, were you?"

Harry pulled away to look him in the eye, searching for something. He apparently found it, because he smiled and, after a tense moment during which neither of them breathed, he kissed Ron's cheek.

There was something to be said for clear thinking.

~000~

End Addled

Aaand the slash returns.


	8. Chapter 8

**Abominable**

Twigs and leaves cracked as Harry shifted position on the floor. He was in the Forbidden Forest, in a little moonlit glade ringed with flowering trees. It was mid-spring, and the night air was still cool.

With the second task completed and only the third left, animosity against Harry for his participation in the Triwizard Tournament had receded somewhat. It hadn't disappeared completely, though. A fair amount of students sneered at him when he walked past, and the entire House of Hufflepuff glared daggers at any mention of his name. To give himself some reprieve from this, and also to avoid the press, he'd taken to finding little nooks and forgotten spots, places where he could get away from it all.

He relaxed his neck and shoulders, letting his head dangle down until his chin bumped his chest. He let out a long sigh through his nose.

He'd been there for hours, since before dinner. He got his homework done a while ago and had just let his thoughts wander after that. They wandered towards Cho, and he wondered what he'd seen in her. Just last week he saw her bullying some blonde girl from her house in the library, and felt sick when the sight brought back memories of Dudley and his gang having their fun.

Sure he'd barely known anything about her before that, other than she was pretty and funny and seemed nice, but this was a crude awakening.

Lots of things that he'd taken for granted were being turned upside down this year. Like Ron, for instance; they'd made up officially, but how little time they spent together and the funny look in Ron's eyes whenever someone brought up the tournament said differently.

He also used to think that Dumbledore could do anything he liked, and that he could always protect him no matter what. That hadn't been the case this year, and he'd never felt more abandoned. He was positive the Headmaster was avoiding him too. Even Hermione, though still loyal, spent most of her time studying or wrapped up in Viktor. He didn't grudge her a boyfriend, it was just that…

He was lonely, and there was no one he could talk to.

Something rustled to his right, and he grabbed his wand tightly in his fist, eyes wide and breaths speeding up. The rustling happened again, sounding nearer now. He scrambled to his feet, scraping his arm on a sharp bit of bark.

Marcus Flint came striding into view, a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. Harry hid behind the tree rather than confront him face-to-face. Marcus was a formidable force in Slytherin House. His housemates didn't seem to get on very well with him, but they'd made him their Quidditch Captain and treated him with quiet respect. Everyone kept their distance, though. Harry didn't blame them. He wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of one of Marcus' powerful fists. 

He paused inside Harry's glade, looked around, and took a seat at the foot of the tree Harry was hiding behind. Harry stood in a pile of dry leaves from last autumn, and the smallest move to escape would make a lot of noise. There was no hope of sneaking off, now. It was only a matter of time before Marcus noticed his book bag a few feet away, hanging from a tree branch.

The change in Marcus' breathing let him pinpoint the exact moment he spotted it. His posture straightened, and he suddenly stood in one fluid motion. Harry cringed, squeezing his eyes shut. There was a soft rustling sound, and then he felt breath on his forehead. Opening his eyes, he saw Marcus standing barely an inch away, staring down at him with his usual inscrutable expression. Harry swallowed and took a tiny step back.

Should he greet him?

"Hello, Potter."

"H-hi."

He held up the bag, "Is this yours?"

"Yeah…"

Marcus handed it to him, and then asked, without preamble, "Have you got a date for this Hogsmeade weekend?"

Harry mutely shook his head, clutching the bag to his chest.

"Would you like to go with me?"

Harry stared, "W-what? Why would you…we can't go together! What would people say?"

Privately, he was starting to like the idea. Now that Cho had turned out to be a closet bitch, he'd been considering trying lads instead of ladies for romance. They would be simpler, of that he was sure. At least they would have more in common!

Marcus gave him a long look, and then said in a stern voice that booked no argument, "I don't like other people, and I don't give a fuck about what they think. I just like you. Your opinion is the only one I care about."

Harry felt extremely flattered, even though this was a Slytherin he was considering going on a date with. On second thought, who cared if he was a Slytherin? Just because Malfoy was a berk didn't mean they all were. Besides, Marcus had never acknowledged him outside of Quidditch before. Harry hadn't seen him bullying or mocking him with the others either, now that he stopped to think about it.

Marcus cracked a small smile, seeing the rapid play of emotions on Harry's face.

"Come on, am I really so abominable that you can't go on a date with me?"

Harry smiled back, "I don't think you're abominable. I think you're nice. And yes, I will."

~000~

End Abominable

Oh Marcus…


	9. Chapter 9

**Alacrity**

Alacrity: it was the thing that set Lily Evans apart from the rest of the female study body. There were the supercilious Ravenclaws and the loopy ones filled with crazy ideas, there were the soft-hearted Hufflepuffs and the ones that cried about everything, and all the Slytherin girls were bitches.

And Gryffindor had two types of girl. There was the gossipy kind that talked about boys and make-up and giggled. And then there was the athletic, even-tempered kind that talked about Quidditch and how much they hated their professors and only got mean and prone to sobbing for one week during the month.

Lily, however, was an odd duck. She seemed to find a smile for everyone. No matter what was going on or who she was with, she maintained a sort of brisk cheerfulness. She was nice to everyone, or, failing that, civil. James had never seen her snap at anyone unless they'd been bothering her for a long time, and even then you could barely tell she was doing it. There was an extra edge to her voice, and the words came out faster than usual, but that was it.

And James _liked _that. He'd been beginning to think that going gay was the only way he'd ever find someone who wouldn't set his teeth on edge with their moodiness.

It was really too bad that he was the one person in the entire school that Lily despised.

She didn't start to like him until he followed her example and tried to treat people like he wanted to be treated. He still played practical jokes, but kept them mild and harmless. He found his friends multiplying, and suddenly he had reliable people outside of the Marauders to study with or talk about the latest Quidditch move some genius had come up with.

And then she started to send him little secret smiles, filled with approval and even some smidgeons of affection. He started a student charity for fellow students whose families had been targeted by the new Dark Lord.

She asked him to Hogsmeade that weekend, ostensibly to discuss ideas for fairly distributing the funds and maybe throwing a dinner for the parents and trying to raise more.

They ended up fooling around instead, and that was the start of their relationship.

~000~

End Alacrity


	10. Chapter 10

**Agitate**

Sirius was a bit of a jerk to everyone, even his friends. Remus sometimes wondered why he was friends with him, but then he would remember how accepting of other people's differences Sirius really was and his incredible amount of charm.

Remus wondered how long Sirius would've lived without his charm. His utter ease with women was a source of envy for him, and the way he could schmooze their way out of everything from detention to expulsion was actually kind of sickening. But he never used his charm on Remus.

No, Sirius enjoyed aggravating Remus instead. He would steal his notes without permission and return them out of order and with sometimes-obscene doodles in the margin. He would ramble on and on about anything that came to mind when Remus was trying to cram for a test. And he always, always stole Remus' shampoo. Remus didn't know what his obsession was with it- it was just some cheap citrus-scented Muggle stuff he picked up at petrol stations.

He sat in the encyclopedia section of the library because it was the dustiest and least-travelled. Word search charms had made the encyclopedias obsolete, and no one bothered with their ponderous and confusing reference codes anymore.

It was Saturday night, and any student with a partner was spending the evening with them. Seeing as it was illegal for werewolves to have relationships with humans, Remus was alone tonight. He knew Sirius would be fooling around with some gullible Huffflepuff, and that James and Peter were stalking Lily Evans together. Peter didn't have a love interest, so he kept James company as he pined for his.

Remus sighed and dug into his potions manual. It was getting late, but thanks to a certain someone he had to re-write his report. After several minutes of quiet reflection about how he was going to go about this, he started to really get into the project, splitting his time between rapidly scribbling an essay outline and using the book's glossary to look up terms he couldn't remember.

The distant sounds of late-night students slowly faded away as curfew approached, but Remus was too caught up in his project to notice.

"Remus! There you are, you sly bastard! Are you avoiding me?"

He didn't hide his groan of disgust as Sirius came sauntering down his aisle, hands in pockets. A self-satisfied smile stretched his admittedly lovely lips, though whether it was from finding Remus or whatever he did with his willing Hufflepuff earlier was unknown.

"What the hell do you want, Sirius? This is due tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your nastiness right now," he snapped, bending further over his text. Sirius sat next to him, leaning forward and propping his chin on one hand. He just sat there in silence, watching him with those gray eyes. Remus felt his ability to concentrate waning, and sped up his scribbling. He barely finished his essay in time before his reasoning skills shorted out completely. Somehow the fact that Sirius always smelled like him, courtesy of robbing him of his grooming products, was as distracting as all hell. His wolfish side somehow took this as an extra sign of ownership, and often sent waves of affection towards Sirius into Remus' human brain.

He rubbed his temples, fighting off a tension headache.

Sirius was still being unnaturally quiet, and it set Remus' teeth on edge. As much as he hated Sirius' obnoxious chatter, he missed the sound of his voice now that he was silent. He risked a glance at him, and found Sirius staring at him with a look of what could be described as adoration.

He flushed, confused. Sirius, lips still sealed, reached out and gently moved a piece of his hair out of his eyes. He ran his nails through it, smoothing it flat where it'd been ruffled. His breath caught, and Sirius' pupils dilated. He began to lean in, and Remus suddenly realized that Sirius didn't smell like cheap perfume or the musky under-scent of woman. He just smelled like Remus.

Their lips touched, and Sirius kept his hand in his hair in case Remus made any move to escape. Remus wouldn't have moved away if he wanted to. Sirius' tongue was hot and flickery against his, and his long hair brushed against Remus' cheek.

Sirius pulled away, lips returning to press a multitude of brief, chaste pecks on his mouth immediately afterward. His hands stroked through his hair; Remus hummed, pleasure buzzing through his temples. He didn't understand any of this, but it was wonderful.

Finally he gathered enough wits to whisper, "Why?"

"Because I fancy you, you stupid sod."

"Oh."

~000~

End Agitate


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: For those who don't know, afterlight is the light left over in the sky when the sun has set, or retrospection.

**Afterlight**

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and Aurors Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were sitting in their office, ostensibly filling out reports of the previous night's mission.

"Ugh, all this paperwork is giving me the stress!" Ron flung down his quill in disgust, looking over at Harry for support. Harry wasn't looking at him. He was staring out the window again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, now that Ron thought about it. He took a spare sheet of parchment and folded it with the ease of long practice into a paper aeroplane. He chucked it at Harry's head.

"Oi! Mate! Still there?"

Harry jumped and scowled at him, crumpling up his paper creation and chucking it in the bin.

Seeing the look on his face, Ron sat up straight and asked, "Hey, what's the matter? Did Malfoy do something?"

Harry shook his head, "No, it's not him. Did you notice what place we chased that criminal last night?"

"Yeah, it was a graveyard," he shrugged, wondering where Harry was going with this. And then gray images of last night's frantic chase and capture returned to him, and he noticed what harry was trying to say. He swallowed, "It was the one Fred is in, wasn't it?"

Harry didn't answer; he looked out the window again. Ron got up, circled his desk, and came to stand behind Harry. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, "We all miss him, Harry; George most of all."

Harry couldn't hear him, mind lost in memories of school days and secrets. Ron didn't know, but Fred had been more than a friend. George was the only soul alive that had any inkling of what Fred had meant to Harry, and he wouldn't tell. He bit his lip to hold back the stubborn ache that rose up in his throat yet again. It'd only been two years without Fred now, but it felt so much longer. Seeing George at Weasley dinners, where he was seated beside Ginny without fail, made it impossible for the wounds to close. Every time he saw George out of the corner of his eye, his heart would leap and he'd turn with a smile only to find the wrong twin.

It was killing him, but he was determined to soldier on. Fred would've wanted him to, and he _never _let down Fred.

Ron went back to his seat after a few minutes, deciding to just let Harry sit there with his thoughts. He ended up writing both of their reports, but he didn't particularly mind. Normally that was Harry's thing, and he owed Harry quite a few favors.

They went to eat dinner at the Burrow to surprise Molly, who had empty nest syndrome pretty bad.

Harry was shoved away from a seat next to George and instead next to Ginny. Ron saw him heave a little sigh before complying with his mum's wishes. He frowned. That was weird. He'd have to talk to Harry about that later.

Harry talked to George for most of the night, trying to keep him in full sight so he wouldn't look away and mistake him for Fred. George seemed to know exactly what he was doing, because he gave him a sad little smile when no one was looking at them. Harry returned it, and felt George's foot come to rest against his under the table.

After dinner, sitting outside having a smoke, Harry was joined by George. George waited a full minute before he laid his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in the smell so similar to Fred's. The only difference was that George used higher-quality shaving cream that made the skin of his cheeks smell faintly of aniseed.

"He might be gone, but… I'm still here, Harry."

Harry's eyes slowly opened as he began to understand what George was suggesting. He turned his head just a bit and kissed the underside of George's chin. George sighed and held him closer. Nothing more was said, though a big change had been made.

~000~

End Afterlight


	12. Chapter 12

**Available**

The fountain was old and algae covered. Rusty pipes weakly trickled water through the mouths of nymphs and seahorses, drops pattering into the shallow iced-over puddle at the bottom of the basin.

Flowering winter hawthorn ringed the small walled garden, brown ivy draped liberally over the brick walls. The beds were filled with years and years worth of weeds, brown and rotting in the damp of late November.

Neville wasn't terribly excited about weeding in the winter, because he didn't think it would do much good when spring came around other than clear out the dead bits, but his customer was an eccentric old lady that decided she wanted her flower beds weeded now. She was paying him well, so he supposed he would just have to get on with it.

There was just one problem. This was too much work for one person to do in a day. The garden he stood in now was only one of twelve others of varying sizes, bricked off from each other due to differences of soil. In its heyday, this garden was someone's pride and joy.

And so here he was, sitting on a stone bench with ice freezing through the seat of his pants, trying to contact someone who could help him on his magical mobile. So far he'd gotten three answering messages and one terse reply from Hermione that she was 'too busy to breathe!'

Feeling discouraged, he scrolled through his small list of contacts again and landed on Harry's. He hadn't spoken with Harry in a while, not since the divorce, but Harry was always reliable when it came to giving friends a hand if he could.

It rang four times before Harry answered. He agreed immediately to apparatate there in the next half an hour, just as soon as he could give his boss the slip. Neville gushed his thanks, and Harry just laughed and said it would be good to catch up.

Harry arrived earlier then he said he would, and brought half-dozen donuts in a sheet of newspaper folded into a bundle. He threw his arms around Neville as soon as he saw him, and Neville flushed up to his ears. Harry's displays of affection still surprised him years later. It was the closeness left over from the War, he supposed, but it was still…nice. It made him feel warm to know that there was someone like Harry out there who would always greet him with a hug instead of a handshake.

They got to work after shoving donuts into their mouths, and Harry happily answered all of his questions about what working for Luna of all people was like. Harry helped process and organize Luna's many findings. She was hard at work proving, and succeeding too, that the creatures she had long spoken of were real. It was Harry's job to publish them in English that other people could understand. He called himself her translator.

When she was out of the country on expeditions, which he raised money for, he lived in her house and secretly did all the handyman types of things that she forgot to do.

Neville asked if there was more than work between them, and then immediately felt foolish for prying. He tried to apologize and take back his question, but Harry waved him off and said that he didn't mind.

"No, there's nothing like that. The whole both of us being very, very gay thing kind of prevents any chance in Hell of that."

Neville paused in his weeding, looking over at Harry from under his lashes so Harry wouldn't see. Harry was working away the same as him, hacking at the frozen ground as if nothing was amiss with what he'd just said.

Working up his courage, he said, "I didn't know that."

Harry turned to stare at him incredulously, "What? Are you serious? Damn it, I thought all my friends knew by now. I must've missed you, mate. I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Does it…bother you?"

Neville shook his head, flushing a little as he remembered some rather private thoughts he'd had about Harry in the past. "Not at all," his voice squeaked a little, and he coughed to clear his throat. Harry winked at him for no reason and went back to his weeding, asking him how his Gran was doing.

"She's good, but she's getting on in years and I'm not sure how to tell her that I think she should go into assisted living. Any ideas?"

"Nothing comes to mind, sorry. Change of subject: I always wondered, what's your favorite part of gardening?"

Neville thought for a moment, and said, "I like to watch things to grow. And I love the feel of soil. Don't you? And the _smell."_

"I love those things too. Luna's got a garden, you know, and she just lets it grow wild. I've been tending it behind her back," there was something in Harry's voice that made Neville look at him. Harry was looking at him with a soft smile he'd never seen before. He was caught immediately in the prickly warmth of Harry's expression. Heart twisting, he let out a little sigh and looked away.

He heard the soft rustle of clothing moving, and then Harry came over to kneel beside him. Shyly, he asked, "Would you like to come over some weekend and help me plant some bulbs for her? I think it'll be a nice surprise come springtime."

Neville nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He could feel something stupid in his throat, dying to be said. He was determined not to make a fool of himself in front of Harry. Just because Harry was gay too didn't mean that he returned Neville's little (okay, huge) crush.

Harry bit his lip, pink cheeked from the cold. His voice was quiet when he said, "I fancy you too, you know."

~000~

End Available


	13. Chapter 13

**Awakened**

She'd assumed he was an uneducated savage, the first time she saw him. He was a professional athlete, and that meant that he was very good at one specific thing. Unfortunately, those sorts of people were usually utter fools at everything else. Viktor Krum, a prodigy in the air, playing the World Cup while still at school. She supposed that was impressive, but still. She wasn't expecting much in the brain arena.

He proved her wrong when they first spoke. She was muttering to herself, trying to figure out the arithmancy problems that were going to be on their OWLS next year. She got up without looking, mind still wrapped around a problem that just wouldn't be solved, and crashed right into him; hard. Her nose smashed against the firm shoulder of his uniform and began to bleed. Desperately apologizing, eyes watering, she tried to make a speedy exit for the bathroom to clean up, and then maybe to the Hospital Wing. Her nose felt broken.

He stopped her with a light finger on her shoulder and pulled her hands away from her face. Sniffling not and embarrassed about it, she closed her eyes. She felt him pinch either side of her nose, cast a cooling charm, and push from either side with his thumbs.

"Ow! Fuck!"

And then the pain was gone, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle. He cleaned the blood away with a charm and dug out a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the underside of her nose. She cautiously opened her eyes.

"Thanks," her voice sounded thick, and she blushed. He gave her a curt nod and ushered her back into her seat.

"Vhat book did you want? I vill get. You," he gestured wildly for a second before announcing, "dizzy. Could fall and hurt self."

She nodded, grateful and not really knowing what to say. She wrote down the name of the book and waited for him to get it, twiddling her thumbs to stop the temptation to touch her nose. He returned what felt like a second later, book in hand, frowning again. He sat next to her.

"Are you sure? This book is for older students."

She cleared her throat and quietly and slowly explained that she was trying to get a head-start on her OWLS. He nodded, understanding, and asked if she understood the material. She was forced to admit ignorance of one type of problem that the book wasn't explaining very well. Much to her surprise, considering his reputation as a surly bastard, he stayed and helped her work her way through the book. He was a patient and clear tutor, despite occasional fumbles with English. He cast a new cooling charm on her nose every time it started to wear off, and when she went to her room that night she found her nose as good as new, if not a little better. There wasn't a single bruise on it.

Before they'd parted, she asked if he would like someone to help him with his English. His eyes had lit up, and he agreed to meet her there the next day. She was forced to concede that, for a muscle-head, he had a fully-functioning brain.

~000~

They spent a lot of time together after that, and she inevitably found herself fancying him. At first she thought it was just a silly attraction that would go away as long as she didn't pay it too much mind. Viktor was a good person, the only person she knew that she could talk to about any topic and have a worthwhile discussion about it, and she didn't want to lose his friendship

He had no such qualms, apparently, and asked her how she felt about being his girlfriend a mere two weeks into their friendship. She wasn't stupid enough to say no, and, well, things went the usual way after that.

Then there was less conversation and more body talk.

For all of her beliefs that she was his intellectual equal, he turned out to be more versed in the art of courting than her and he became the first of several lovers she would have in her lifetime. The first morning she woke up on the Durmstrang ship, there were fiery red roses were on the dresser, the first thing she saw when she woke up.

They parted on good terms, and exchanged letters free of sentimental garbage for years. Even after her marriage to Ron, Viktor continued to hold a special place in her heart as the man who awakened her sexuality.

~000~

End Awakened


	14. Chapter 14

**Aide-de-Camp**

Albus had always been James' most loyal follower.

As children, they were so close that some mistook them for twins. Albus trusted and admired James; James seemed to adore him in return. They shared all their childish secrets, dreams, and fears, and never spent a night in separate beds.

When James went away to Hogwarts, Albus sent him letters every week. James didn't always respond. Albus assumed James was just busy. He assumed all that would change as soon as they were both at school together. James' responses to his letters grew shorter and farther apart, and then stopped altogether.

At Hogwarts, Albus barely got a nod in the hallways when they passed each other.

This went on during the school year, but James became the friendly older brother he used to be during the summer holidays. They spent long afternoons goofing off together, but as soon as it was time to go back to Hogwarts, Albus was left in the dust. It hurt, a lot, but he didn't say anything, happy to take what his older brother would give.

He tried not to resent James' friends when their relationship grew even more distant. James started dating girls, and then they would come over in the summer and monopolize James' time completely.

Soon they barely spoke at all except to say "pass the peas" at dinner.

Albus changed when he went through puberty, stretching out and becoming an individual. He started doing things not because they would meet the approval of his family but because they were what he wanted to do.

Albus explored his sexuality. He dabbled in drugs too, easily obtainable in his House. He stopped thinking about James entirely. He started waking up in strangers beds and blacking out.

He needed help when the addiction proved too strong for him to quit alone, and turned to his sometimes-lover Scorpius for support. His dad didn't like the Malfoys, so no one in his family knew they were friends.

Scorpius researched potions that would help Albus recover from the damage the Muggle drugs did to him, scolding him all the while for being so damned stupid. They spent a lot of time together, and events went their natural course. Scorpius confessed that he wanted more than an occasional fling from Albus. Grateful to Scorpius for everything he'd done and not knowing how to refuse, Albus lied and said he felt the same. Love would come with time, he supposed.

James graduated and got into the Auror trainee program. Albus missed the party; spending the night at Scorpius'. He never saw the disappointment on James' face when he learned that his little brother wouldn't be there to congratulate him.

Albus graduated and told his parents he was studying abroad. They weren't pleased, but he'd stopped pandering to their wishes years ago. He got a small flat with Scorpius and kept their relationship a secret from their families. Scorpius made him happy, and they enjoyed being with each other. But Albus began to doubt that he could ever fall in love with Scorpius.

Back in England, James dated a different girl every month, feeling lost and confused. He started going out with blokes too when he bored of women. There was something missing, but he couldn't pin his finger on what.

It became easy to let go and have one drink too many at the pub with friends. Years passed, and his dad started dropping hints about him finding a nice girl and settling down. He stopped going to Sunday lunches with his parents after that, not wanting to see their disappointment.

He wondered why Albus never visited. He was living in France, last he checked. He wondered if Albus was alright; if Albus missed him.

Finally, after five years of skipping it, Albus couldn't come up with an excuse to miss Christmas with his family again; Scorpius ordered him to come out of the closet about his sexuality and their relationship. Albus refused, knowing that his dad wouldn't accept Scorpius.

Scorpius wordlessly began to pack his things and slammed the door behind him. Albus knew he wouldn't be coming back. Once Scorpius made up his mind about something, he didn't change it. He was sorry to see him go, but felt a great weight lift from his heart.

He went home for Christmas like the good son he knew he wasn't and let his mother fuss over him, smiling thinly at her exclamations of how _handsome _he was.

He found himself asking about James, and his mother tutted with disapproval and said that he was unable to get off work. Apparently James offered to stay so that his married colleagues could spend Christmas with their loved ones. Albus was disappointed, but he tried to brush it off. He didn't have anything to say to James. It wasn't like they were close; not anymore.

It got late, presents long since opened and the dinner devoured, and his family members drifted off to bed.

He was left alone to sit in the parlor with a book. The clock struck twelve, and he let out a sigh. Christmas was over. He wouldn't be doing this again. He didn't have Scorpius to keep him grounded anymore, so he supposed that now he could follow his dream and go to the African safari. What he'd do there he didn't know, but he'd figure something out.

The fire flared, and he sat up straight, wand at the ready. James stepped out, brushing snow and ash from his hair. He froze when he saw Albus, and then a smile spread across his face. It was the same smile from boyhood, and Albus felt his heart clench in his chest as he returned it.

Unbeknownst to him, James had just discovered what was missing.

"I missed you."

Albus just nodded, and shivered pleasantly when James touched his cheek with his cold hand. The mistletoe hanging above them was the only witness to their first kiss.

~000~

End Aide-de-Camp


	15. Chapter 15

**Adulation**

The myth of Narcissus is a memorable story of self-love and the tragedy that can befall one who engages in this to an excess. Narcissus was a beautiful young man in ancient Greece so beautiful that, upon seeing his reflection in a pool of water, he fell in love with himself. He couldn't bring himself to leave the side of his supposed lover, who mimicked everything he did (being a mere reflection), and wasted away. Finally, desiring to steal an embrace from this imaginary lover, he sprang upon his reflection and drowned in the pool of water. The flowers Narcissi are named after him.

It was beyond Lucius' comprehension of why anyone would name their daughter Narcissa, knowing the origins of the name. It was a pretty name, sure, but to be named after an unwittingly suicidal and vain young man? Surely there are prettier names without a horrible back story.

However, as Lucius pursued courtship with his betrothed bride-to-be Narcissa, he began to see that the name suited her rather well. You could tell immediately that she took great care with her appearance, something that is not a fault by itself but can quickly become one. She was also very fond of being admired, whether through jealousy, admiration, or flattery.

She especially liked flattery.

Lucius had no moral qualms about using that to his advantage. The Blacks were an old and prestigious family, and Narcissa's inheritance was large enough to make him dizzy at the thought. He was determined to win her favor. If he didn't, some other prick would come along and their betrothal would be nullified and then he'd have only one fortune to live off of.

Malfoys are never satisfied with just one of anything. Later in life, he would never have just one mistress at a time. There were always two, three, sometimes four women desperately waiting for his visits and little sparkling gifts.

He became an artist, a poet, a lover worthy of his own epic. His adulation of her many charms (and they were many indeed, vanity aside), his faithfulness, and his outright bloody-mindedness won her over.

He maintained his careful manipulation over her until she gave him a son, and then slowly weaned her off of dependency on him. She'd given him an heir. What did he care whether she spent her evenings with other men now? He could always win her back if he needed to.

His death intervened with witnessing the terribly ironic way Narcissa joined him in the underworld. She drowned herself in the bathtub, pretty and untainted even in death. He would've wondered if she'd fallen in, or if her death had, indeed, been intentional.

~000~

End Adulation


	16. Chapter 16

**Alias**

Iago, Viktor Krum's ridiculous cousin, was getting married. How he'd managed to trick a woman into saying yes to him was beyond Viktor's imaginings. He'd wanted desperately to make some excuse that would get him out of attending the wedding, but Iago's mother, his aunt Ida, revealed that the wedding was to be held during the Quidditch off season specifically so that Viktor could attend.

So here he was: traveling incognito under the alias of Myshkin in Ireland to see his cousin's wedding. God how he hated Iago; this wedding couldn't have come at a worse time, too. Just last week he came stumbling into the Quidditch lockers looking for a lost sock and found his boyfriend of six months shagging some groupie in the showers. He was still furious with Aleksey for betraying him.

He unpacked his things in his Muggle hotel room. He was avoiding the Wizarding world here, not wanting to risk getting recognized by his English fan base. Once this was done, he went out to the nearest pub to get pissed. He wasn't in the mood to be sober. His cousin's bachelor party was the next night, and he wanted at least one solitary night of drinking before he had to endure first his cousin's annoying friends, then the rehearsal dinner, and finally the wedding itself.

It wasn't until he slid onto a barstool that he realized it was a Wizarding pub by the bottles of Firewhiskey lining the shelves. He groaned and considered leaving, but a cursory glance around showed that this was one of those pubs primarily frequented by grumpy old men who liked to play chess over a pint of bitter. Relieved, he looked for the barkeep.

A blonde man came out of the back room with a wooden backgammon box in his hands. He was obviously athletic or at least had a lot of spare time to spend in the gym. Nicely dressed in a sweater and corduroy trousers, he didn't look very wizardly. Viktor supposed he was handsome enough to not care what his elderly customers thought of his attire.

"I'll be right with you!" he called to Viktor, carrying the game over to a pair of chortling old ladies. They stared at his bottom as he walked away from them, back to the bar, and slid behind the counter. Viktor pinched his crooked nose and asked for whiskey. Whiskey was provided, along with a selection of crisps. He bought the one with green packaging, not bothering to read what kind they were.

He was allowed to drink and munch on crisps and nuts in peace until he worked himself into a stupor. The old people trickled out, the females sending admiring glances in the bartender's direction. The bartender ignored their salacious eyes, bidding them all good night and a safe walk on the winter ice outside.

One man missing an eye remained in the far corner, nursing a bottle. Viktor turned his eyes back to the bar to find the bartender standing across from him with a bottle of whiskey in his hands.

"Can I give you another …oi, you're Viktor Krum!"

Viktor groaned and dug out his wallet, planning to just pay and go.

"No, no, don't go! I promise not to be a prat about it. I was just surprised. You _are _him, though, aren't you? I don't think anyone else can have eyes like yours."

Viktor frowned, puzzled.

"They look like a hawk's," the bartender explained, "I'm Cormac, by the way. Cormac McLaggen. Now, would you like a top-up? It's on me."

Viktor accepted the free drink with bad grace, still uncomfortable to have a fan standing so close to him. He'd begun to regard his fans as a separate sub-species of human, lacking in intelligence and moral dignity.

Cormac did not seem to be one of them, though, as the night wore on. He worked on a book of crosswords in the corner, checking every once in a while to see if his customers wanted anything. Viktor reached the phase of drunkenness when you develop an over-whelming need to confide in another human to assure yourself that there are people who care whether you live or die. Viktor poured out his sorrows about his unfaithful lover, and Cormac listened sympathetically. He then complained about his stupid fucking cousin, how much he hated weddings and his fawning family in general, and how much he was dreading the reaction of his mother when he showed up sans date.

Finally it was time for Cormac to close up shop. Viktor tried to pay, but was waved off.

Viktor suddenly felt a blind moment of panic. He didn't remember where his hotel was! Damn it, he remembered the name…but he didn't have enough Muggle currency on him for afford a taxi.

Unbeknownst to him, he'd been discussing his plight out loud. Hearing him, Cormac offered to walk Viktor back to his hotel as long as it was nearby. He claimed to know the area well, and said Viktor was in no state to be walking back alone anyway.

Viktor swallowed his pride and let Cormac escort him, leaning heavily on his taller companion as they went. Cormac didn't seem to mind, and even put his arm around him. Viktor fancied he could feel Cormac's strong fingers toying with the black curls of his hair at the base of his neck from time to time, but said nothing in case he was mistaken.

He was definitely not mistaken about somehow ending up inviting Cormac into his room for a glass of water and then mysteriously getting into a situation where kissing him seemed a capitol idea. He was fairly sure it was the whiskey, though.

Next morning, bleary eyed and stiff, he found Cormac amenable to being his date to the wedding. He began to actually look forward to the next three days of hell, if only to see the way his family would react to him carrying on with a big, beautiful blonde man.

Cormac rolled over in his sleep and muttered something about liking Viktor's eyes very much. Viktor grumbled and pulled the pillow over his face.

Much good travelling under an alias did him if people like Cormac could recognize him in a heartbeat.

~000~

End Alias


	17. Chapter 17

**Alienation**

Luna convinced Hermione to go to an art museum with her on a Monday when she really should've been at work, helping Cyrille sort out the mess with the Goblins. Lord knew that boy was as incompetent as a blind clerk in a paint shop. She'd been petitioning, anonymously through typed letters, that he be sacked for years now. Despite her passionate arguments and well-constructed logic, nothing had been done.

After two years of living together and many years of studying her closely, how Luna could manipulate Hermione without her noticing was still a mystery worthy of history's great riddles.

They strolled through galleries of paintings, galleries of porcelain, and galleries of pagan gods long dead. Hermione began to enjoy herself. She hadn't thought much about the history behind art before, but now that she was here, she was fascinated by the depictions of dead kings and great battles, and the many portraits of women, known and unknown. Ideals of beauty had changed a lot, but at the same time not at all.

Luna led them outside for some fresh air, where there was a collection of Greco-Roman statues. From her bottomless handbag, in which the answers to the Universe no doubt made their home, Luna produced cold sandwiches and greasy crisps. Hermione didn't ask how; she knew her girlfriend's answers wouldn't satisfy her. In some ways, Luna was the one who helped her understand that she didn't need to know the answer to everything. Sometimes an unsolved mystery or a surprise can be good things.

"Who were these people?" Luna wondered aloud, touching the foot of a sea nymph.

Hermione looked up juggling her handbook and sandwich, "Who do you mean? The artists?"

"No, the statues; I mean, once upon a time these statues were used to decorate temples or worshipped by tens of hundreds of people. And now some historians believe that the gods were based off of real people, who lived a very long time ago. What I want to know is what these so-called gods were really like, before the stories about turning into swans and killing anyone who offended them started."

Hermione frowned. She didn't know if she agreed with the historians, but then again…gods didn't just spring from nothing.

"Do you think Zeus regretted killing his father, even if it was to save his brothers and sisters?" Luna's voice was softer now, a sure sign that her mind was far away.

Hermione hadn't know that part of the story, and found herself a little sickened. "He killed his father?"

"Sort of."

Luna, as usual, only created more confusion instead of clearing it away. Hermione shrugged it off and went back to eating. They went back inside and surveyed the modern art on the upper floors. Hermione was unimpressed, never seeing the point of art outside of representing real objects, but Luna treated it the same as she did everything else there.

"It's funny how those forgotten gods and the modern paintings make me feel the same thing."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Luna added,

"Alienation. I felt that all the time back at school before I made friends with Harry too…I don't feel it anymore, now that I'm a part of something, that I matter to more than just my father."

Hermione spontaneously kissed her cheek.

"I hope you never feel that way with me."

Luna laughed, seemingly for no reason, "How silly; you're where I belong the most."

~000~

End Alienation


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: For those who don't know, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander are Luna Lovegood's sons.

**Again**

It was an accident the first time, and then it was only supposed to happen once; a single mistake, a single night that they would never speak or think of ever again. But it didn't work out that way. It happened again, and again. In fact, it started happening so much that not a week would go by without one of them slipping up.

Their father almost caught them once, this bold affair in the laundry room instigated by Lysander. Lorcan couldn't resist that molten-eyed look and the hands creeping into his hair just the way he liked, and he'd thrown caution to the wayside. They barely had time to pull their clothes in order before the door opened and their father strolled in, whistling, to deposit his dirty things into Lysander's arms for the wash.

Terror turned to agitation, and he turned on his brother as soon as their father was out of earshot.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, hair practically standing on end. Lysander just smiled and pushed him against the gently sloshing washing machine, lips and warm tongue finding his dimples and the cherubim bow above his lip. In between caresses from hands and mouth, he whispered, "There has to be something wrong with you; something about you that keeps drawing me in like this…" 

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Lorcan whispered, hot-cheeked and feverish with desire.

"That's debatable," Lysander disagreed, taking his earlobe between his teeth and nibbling. "This is the last time, I promise."

Lorcan nodded against his cheek, their different shades of blonde blending together.

They both knew this was far from the last time. All that mattered was that it stayed a secret. Lorcan shoved his brother away when his hands started straying into his underwear and promised that they would finish later, when their mother went to her meeting and their father took his habitual afternoon nap.

It would happen again. Lorcan hefted a basket of wet clothes to hang up for drying and went outside. Lysander grabbed the second and followed him into the summer sunshine. He stroked Lorcan's cheek when his brother bent beside him to unfurl a sheet from some towels. Lorcan smiled the lovely smile he saved just for Lysander, and plucked a dandelion, tucking it behind his ear.

"Your tickle-mind will get us into trouble, you know."

"I know," Lysander stood and began to pin up their striped towels, "You like it, though."

By the pond, brightly-colored dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water, shimmering and darting through the air. Beyond the pond fig and olive trees were planted in haphazard, careless rows and clumps.

~000~

End Again


	19. Chapter 19

**Affronted**

Kingsley Shacklebolt was over-heard making a nasty comment about his boss' appearance by the department kettle. This worked its way through the weasel system until news (exaggerated of course) reached his boss' ears. Kingsley was then given a case no one in the Auror Department wanted, other than Mad Barry that is. But Mad Barry was mad, so his opinion meant shit.

He was sent to Hogwarts to investigate a clearly trump charge against Severus Snape for illegal potion smuggling. Normally the Department would ignore something like that, but Snape was an ex-Death Eater, and their kind was looked into at the flimsiest excuse.

Being back in Hogwarts again made him feel strange, and he almost dismissed the Flying Instructor who was there to give him directions to the dungeons. He knew the way.

The silence got to him, and he asked, "Hey, is…is Snape rude to you lot as well, or just to the students? I always wondered."

"He's rude to everyone; that's why they hired him," Madam Hooch responded easily, as though that was an excellent quality in a school teacher.

Kingsley nodded, not making any move to speak again after that. Everyone at this school was loony, that was for sure. They rounded a corner of the maze-like dungeons and saw Snape arguing with the Headmaster about something. Madam Hooch took her leave.

Severus Snape was not a man that altered himself to the moulds of society. His hair was washed only as often as necessary to fend off disease and stench; his nails were chewed and yellowed, bloody half-moons at the tips of his fingers instead. The pen stains from chewing his quill were the most obvious sign of his inward focus. A man like Snape was far more concerned with his life's work to bother with his appearance.

It was a shame, Kingsley decided. Under the grime, the scowl, and the personality, he wasn't bad looking. Sure, most women these days didn't like a large nose on a man, but Kingsley always thought that a large nose was preferable to a small one. It had something to do with the nostrils; he didn't think about it too much.

He half-listened to his suspect's pontificating across the corridor and stared at him, attempting to find some sign of guilt in his posture or voice. All he succeeded in noticing was that Snape's clothes had a lot of little black buttons on them. On his cuffs half-way up his forearms, all down the front of his robes, and even on the sides of his pant legs.

Snape listened to him long enough to hear his business, and then stalked off, telling him that he had no intention of letting his privacy be violated by some Ministry flunky. Kingsley half-expected him to make some kind of rude gesture as he strode away into the shadows.

This was going to be a difficult investigation. He tried the normal routes, and then he tried wearing him down by bothering him all day every day until he would answer his questions. Finally, he began pestering him at all hours of not only the day but the night as well.

Severus was peacefully drinking a bottle of wine in his private bathtub, the cure-all for any ailment, when someone started pounding on his door. Fearing the worst, he leapt into his clothes with a twirl of his wand, still wet beneath them, and threw open the door.

He promptly slammed it in the Auror's face, but ended up only hitting his foot, which had wedged itself between the door and its frame in the split second it took for Snape to see who it was. Snape knew better then to try and expel his unwanted guest at that point, and disappeared back into the depths of his apartments. Kingsley followed, closing the door behind him. He was in a sort of parlor, though it looked more like a study, with stacks of books and packets of supplies covering every surface. On the long sofa against one wall were cushions and ashtrays, repulsive and comforting in their obvious wear. He hadn't known Snape smoked.

Snape was not the kind to cooperate with anyone, but Kingsley remained professional and quietly pertinacious until he felt he was actually making some progress and wearing him down. He made forceful, trenchant, and vigorous arguments. But then Snape took a different tack and actually began shouting at him, clearly frustrated and sleep-deprived, about how insulting it was to have these kinds of accusations repeatedly thrown at him.

He cited his excessive work schedule, his private commissions, and his side work as supplier to the school's Hospital Wing as examples of why he couldn't possibly be doing anything illegal on the side.

"How in the name of Merlin would I find the fucking _time _to smuggle anything? I can't even smuggle an extra hour of sleep!" He stopped, embarrassed at his outburst. His pale face darkened; and he stole back, with a quick, stealthy cat-like step to his arm chair. He put his face in his hands. After a moment he looked up at Kingsley and asked, "What would I have to do to make this go away? I have work to do. I don't have time for this idiotic bureaucratic nonsense."

"You're not alone in that," Kingsley muttered, smoothing a hand over his bald head, "Look; I hate this as much as you do. I call truce. How about I write up a report and just…leave it alone."

Snape looked suspicious, "That sounds entirely too simple a solution. What's the price?"

Kingsley shrugged and said the first thing that came to mind, "Come out for drinks with me some time? I could use a drinking buddy who won't rat me out if I say something stupid."

~000~

End Affronted


	20. Chapter 20

**Adamantine**

Black night hung heavily over the mountains, turning mountains and valleys into a singular dark abyss. Spikes of evergreens tops caught the moonlight, forming the illusion of a second star-dotted sky on the earth to reflect the heavens.

The chill air crept around her bare legs like a cat.

She wasn't supposed to be here; no one expected her to be home when she was meant to be at University studying for her exams. But a fit of home-sickness made her take the quick jump from Uni to her childhood home, though her family no longer lived here. The garden was the same, though.

The dark green leaves of the box were fragrant and sharp. She touched the leaves and rubbed the dew between her fingers.

She should go. But instead, she walked farther into the garden and smelled the lavender and roses. Clematis climbed and crawled over everything, left to grow wild by the new occupants of the Delacour home.

This was more than just a garden to her. This was the place where Gabrielle Delacour broke Ginny's moral inhibitions one heady summer night, when Ginny was there with her mother to see her niece Victoire.

A smile curved her lips.

Womanly wiles could be used against one's own sex, after all. She still remembered the way Ginny starred at her in bewildered wonderment, lips parted and eyelids stretched as far from her eyes as possible when Gabrielle first touched her, made her feel things she'd never considered before. She remembered whispering,

"If someone makes a bad decision for love, it is still through the best of motives."

Her eyes closed and she let herself remember that night in detail. She counted it one of her better memories from her school days.

Opening her eyes again an indeterminate length of time after, she took one long look around and then vanished back to her new home. Ginny looked strong, but she was weak inside. Perhaps a soft word and a softer touch this weekend would bring her into Gabrielle's thrall once more.

~000~

End Adamantine


	21. Chapter 21

**Age**

Hermione cried for hours on her 30th birthday, but kept a clean face in front of her party guests and accepted their gag gifts with forced humor and grace. In truth, she was mentally calculating when her actual 'downhill date' was. It turned out to be in another 20 years, so she began to relax. Wizards probably didn't have a specific age when you stopped being desirable or considered young anyway. They lived so long, age was just a number. Or so she thought.

Ron was not so graceful as she when he hit his 40th year. In fact, he wasn't graceful at all. He went kind of nuts, to be honest. For a solid three months he gallivanted like a kid and almost got fired more times then Hermione was happy about. Apparently there was such a thing as a wizard middle-age crisis. At least their children were amused by his antics. They took pictures and began assembling albums in private, labeling them, 'Dad Loses His Marbles'. She asked them what they planned to do with these, and Hugo smugly responded, "Blackmail."

He eventually settled down, and cheerfully wondered aloud how Harry was going to react to his 40th birthday. Hermione buried her face in her hands. She didn't know if she could handle this rigmarole again.

~000~

End Age


	22. Chapter 22

**Ambidextrous**

The art of making potions is the oldest form of magic. Before spells, before transfiguration, before flight, there was the skillful blending of flower and fauna into concoctions that could cure blindness or strike a man dead. Potions that could preserve life forever, though the precise directions for those have long since been destroyed or lost and the ingredients disappeared into extinction. Almost as old as the practice of potion making itself was the tradition of the assistant.

Originally a potion master, or healer, would take on a younger person to train them as their replacement. Eventually the assistant would become a friend, a partner, and sometimes a lover. Because of this tradition, more difficult potions were designed that could achieve more than their simpler counter-parts. The key to these was the advantage of two pairs of hands instead of one.

A funny side-development of this was that those blessed with ambidexterity (that is, those who have two right hands, so to speak) could achieve as much as two people. Ambidextrous potion masters were considered the most skilled of their kind, whether they were superior in ability or not.

Severus Snape was a fine potion master, one of the best (though no one was brave enough to congratulate or comment on that), but he was not born with two right hands. Unwilling to take on an assistant, out of personal reasons and a specific desire to work alone, Severus was not able to fully exercise his creative abilities. Wolfsbane was as close as he could get to curing lycanthropy on his own.

Blaise Zabini was ambidextrous, ambitious, and vainer then a peacock. Severus couldn't abide him, even though he was a student under his care. However, when Albus fairly ordered him to choose a student to assist him with his experiments or suffer Albus to choose one for him, Blaise was the first student to come to mind.

For all his failings, he had a physical advantage that would speed progress.

Blaise was exactly as he'd imagined he would be. Petty and girlish, he complained constantly about the potions staining his nails. He complained about the lack of sunlight and fresh air in the labs. He complained about Severus being too complicated when he tried to instruct him.

Despite all of this, Severus started to like him.

He was horrified when he first noticed himself sending Blaise's well-dressed back a fond smile, and quickly wiped the expression off of his face. To fend off the warm feelings, he muttered, "You exasperate me completely, do you know that?"

Blaise just snorted disdainfully and flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes in that arrogant way of his.

The next day Blaise brought in a plant; an innocent blue-potted ivy. Severus tried to object, but Blaise was as stubborn as a mule (or Lily) and the plant remained.

Alone with the boy every night of the week Blaise would permit himself to be corralled into the labs, Severus felt Blaise begin to warm to him in turn. The complaining grew less until it faded away altogether. He no longer boasted about turning down peers that weren't attractive enough by his standards.

There, amid the susurrant hissing of the potions, Blaise began to mature. His maudlin or dramatic moods disappeared almost entirely, fading to a muted, acceptable tenor. And Severus was sorry when he discovered the cure for lycanthropy and had to excuse his former assistant. Blaise seemed sorry to go as well, though he didn't say it out loud.

A week went by before he turned up at Severus' labs again and applied his apron without asking permission. He seized the burdock root out of Severus' hands and snapped that he had more important things to be doing besides preparing ingredients.

Severus supposed that this wasn't the most brilliantly subtle seduction technique, but he liked it. He let Blaise stay.

Blaise was the only Slytherin student to attend Severus' funeral, and he did so in disguise. When the crowds had dispersed, he lingered by his memorial and wondered about what might've happened if it hadn't been for the War. Severus made him realize that strength and brilliance of the mind was just as beautiful as a polished appearance and charming manners. Severus' qualities were certainly more lasting; we all lose our charms in the end.

~000~

End Ambidextrous


	23. Chapter 23

**Agile**

Harry always was breathtakingly agile, both in the air and out of it. It was the first thing Oliver noticed about him, though it wouldn't be the last. At first he admired it in a purely professional light; Harry was a brilliant Quidditch player and a credit to the team despite his junior age.

Harry was only thirteen when they parted ways, but hearing Harry's quiet but sincere confession that he was happy that he helped them win the Cup on Oliver's last year sank somewhere deep in his heart and stayed there. He wasn't aware of his feelings for Harry for years. They were there, though, buried deep in his mind and the secret chambers of his heart. And the feelings grew, fed by the news he sometimes caught about Harry winning the TriWizard Cup, about Harry conquering Death Eaters and defeating the Dark Lord.

And then Harry came to one of his games, purely by accident. He wore a hand to cover his distinctive hair and sunglasses, but Oliver recognized the set of his shoulders and the way he bit his lip when he was excited or nervous for one of the players. Oliver's coach yelled at him for ogling the spectators; he forced himself to focus on the game.

Aware that Harry was watching, he played better then he ever had. He blocked hits, pulled stunts, and knocked an opponent off his broom without violating the rules, gaining his team a major advantage. He chanced a glance at the stands when they won, and saw Harry cheering along with his red-headed friend.

The jealous voice deep inside him wondered if Ron Weasley, if he was recalling the name correctly, was more than a friend. He wondered why it mattered to him a moment later, but it was too late. The hidden feelings, the long-forgotten crush reared its head.

He found himself dressed in civilian clothes, anxiously watching the exit, scanning the departing spectators for Harry. He came striding through after almost everyone else had left, and spotted Oliver immediately.

"Wood!"

Oliver waved enthusiastically at him, jogging over to stand with him against the wood slats of the crude fence surrounding the pitch. Harry's friend was gone now, and he'd taken off the sunglasses. Oliver drank in the sight of him, all flushed cheeks and bright green eyes.

The way he walked and even the little moves he made to push escaped strands of hair out of his eyes were as graceful and quick as Oliver remembered.

"My god, how are you? It's been so long! I didn't know you played for this team…" Harry gushed, and Oliver answered all of his questions and made conversation in return. Harry invited him out for drinks, if he was allowed and had nothing else going on, and he said yes.

Neither of them drank very much, but Oliver may as well have consumed everything behind the counter. He felt drunk with Harry's presence and every time Harry laid his hand on his arm or shifted position in their booth, brushing their feet together, he began to piece together that he wasn't the only one with feelings.

They talked until late, and the bar closed. Harry looked sorry to part ways, and Oliver offered to put him up for the night if Harry didn't want to apparatated while sleepy.

Harry leapt on the chance, and admired his flat with perhaps more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. They got into a spat about which of them would sleep on the sofa versus the bed. Harry effectively ended their argument by pointing out that the bed was big enough for the two of them, taking away the need for one of them to sacrifice the night on a lumpy couch.

Oliver wanted to protest; really, he did. But he couldn't say no to those eyes, and found himself loaning Harry some of his clothes to sleep in. it took an hour of lying awake side by side in the dark for Harry to pluck up his courage and roll over to face Oliver.

Oliver feigned sleep, but Harry poked his cheek until he paid attention. Harry didn't have a problem keeping his attention when he kissed him. Two very active hours passed, and Harry fell asleep half on top of him, his weight and warmth making Oliver dizzy with happiness.

He was half-asleep, feverish, and there were dozens of reasons why this relationship was doomed for failure, but he didn't care. Maybe this was what love felt like. He pulled up the covers so they wouldn't get cold in the night and petted Harry's soft hair.

He fell asleep in minutes.

~000~

End Agile


	24. Chapter 24

**Awkward**

Her mother told her she'd grow out of it, that she was just going through an awkward stage. And for a while Tonks believed her. But when she turned twenty and still tripped over her own feet more times then her bruised toes knew how to handle, she began to wonder if her mother had been lying to both of them.

When she turned twenty-five and the tripping and stumbling and general lack of any grace continued relentlessly, she gave up all hope of growing out of it. At least her mother had been right about growing out of her awkward hair/teeth/skin/clothes/musical taste phases.

Her taste in men continued to be atrocious, however.

She dated guys she played Quidditch with at school; they all turned out the same way: near-drunks, money suckers, and unsatisfying in bed. The break-ups with them were always messy and loud, and sometimes public.

Then she dated guys from work. Not the ones she would see every day, but clerks that worked in the filing rooms or private secretaries. They are nice enough, but their jobs had burnt them out to the point that they had nothing interesting to say other than what they'd read in the Prophet over lunch break or petty office gossip. Those relationships at least ended quietly and with discrete understanding on both sides to not cause any unnecessary difficulty for each other.

Tonks was consistently the one to end her relationships, most of which didn't last over a month. She wondered if her standards were too high. And then she wondered if she was going to die old and alone with no one to love her. Perhaps settling would be the best idea…just to have someone there at night. Besides, why would someone strong and brave and handsome want an awkward girl with hair that turned pink when she blushed?

The War began to gain traction, panic building and the death toll rising. Her work both for the Ministry and the Order increased, keeping her so busy that she didn't think about men at all for almost a year.

And then someone introduced her to Remus Lupin, and then only thing she feared at night, lying in bed alone, was that he wouldn't love her back.

But he did love her. A clumsy fall into his lap one fateful evening when they were alone for a few hours revealed that easily enough. He tried to fight it because of what he was, but she finally convinced him that she didn't care about those three days out of the month when he wasn't himself. She loved the human Remus, and could accept the Remus that was inhuman.

For all her awkwardness and peculiar appearance, she was happy with him until the day they died together. James and Sirius teased Remus about robbing the cradle in the afterlife, and she laughed so hard at the look on her husband's face that she fell over.

~000~

End Awkward


	25. Chapter 25

**Ambrosia**

The wintry moon shone through the windows of Harry's bedroom. Though the latticed window was closed fast, it was as cold inside as out. He pressed his forehead to the glass and stared down at the ramparts of the castle. Shivering, he wondered how he was going to survive this.

He was on a diplomatic assignment that, apparently, no one else was capable of doing. Harry was an envoy to Fenrir Greyback in an attempt to convert him to the 'light' side. His castle, Harry's current location, was in the depths of Greenland.

Harry had been here three days already, and yet his host refused to see him. Servants, snuffling and hairier than humans, passed on messages and excuses for their master's repeated absence.

Harry's patience, never plentiful to begin with, was wearing thinner and thinner with every minute he had to spend in this ice cube without warmth, company, or entertainment. He wasn't allowed in the library. He wasn't allowed in the kitchens. And he certainly was not allowed to go anywhere outside of his room without an escort.

He'd mostly slept the time away, or gone through his mission notes. He was considering starting a journal.

The door creaked. He didn't bother to turn around, assuming it was one of the servants come to silently lay the nightly tray of tea and dry biscuits on the desk. There was less shuffling than usual, and he wondered who the new guy was.

There was no sound but soft breathing, and the door remained closed with no indication of the servant's exit. Curious, Harry turned. His eyebrows went up when he saw his long-lost host standing there with a smirk on his face and a tea cup in his hand.

"Sugar?"

Harry nodded, searching for words. This wasn't how he imagined their diplomatic conversation to go. They sat in the armchairs by the weak fire and Greyback served him his tea. Harry held the hot cup in his palms, absorbing its warmth. Greyback kept smirking at him, his eyes twinkling madder than a spangled sky.

Finally Harry muttered, "I wish you would stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Smirking at me like a…like a damn satyr, that's what!"

Greyback took a gulp of burning tea, "I apologize. I understand you have business with me?"

Harry, grateful for the cue back to civility, rattled off his carefully prepared opening speech and then followed it with arguments he'd perfected with Hermione's help. Greyback listened with intense interest, his eyes flitting from Harry's eyes to his mouth and back again. Harry felt himself begin to flush, but kept on.

When he'd finished, he asked if Greyback had any objections or concerns. He shook his shaggy head.

"No. I will join your side. On one condition."

"What condition?" Harry blew on his tea, his mind already anticipating a request for permanently chilled quarters or some other such nonsense.

"That you become my companion for a trial of one month, and, if I like you, for life."

Harry spat out his tea, "What? Sir, I sincerely hope you are joking!" 

Greyback didn't bat an eye, but stated in polite matter-of-fact tone, "I assure you I'm perfectly serious. You smell like heaven distilled into a human body; to be separated from you would cause me physical pain."

Harry spluttered. There was no polite way out of this, and he'd been assured that his testes would be the price if he failed to convert Greyback and his wolves to their cause. He sagged in his chair, indignant energy leaving him.

"Fine."

Greyback stood and padded over to kneel by his seat. Without warning, he buried his face in Harry's chest and inhaled deeply. Harry, face aflame, sat frozen for a long while before he allowed himself to slowly lower a hand to his host's head. His hair was grey and coarse, with strands thick enough to qualify as fur.

He sighed.

A month later, he was still cold but wondering how he'd managed to survive without Fenrir's strength, patience, and bizarre animal affection.

~000~

End Ambrosia


	26. Chapter 26

**Aimless**

There was something painfully ironic about it. Just think: Luna was the one who gave Ginny grounding. _Luna, _the same girl they used to call crazy behind her back and sometimes even to her face back in school. But as the years went by, the storms of drama and men repeatedly drove Ginny to seek out Luna for her oddly-phrased wisdom and her soft soothing hands in her hair.

No matter the time of day or how busy she was, Luna always dropped everything to help Ginny.

But it wasn't enough to give her direction for many years. Ginny wandered, aimlessly, from job to job and man to man and even from country to country. She dated Arabian men, worked to restore their temples after the ravages of an escaped Dijinn, but found heartbreak in the end. She travelled to Scandinavia to support a diplomatic mission to the Jotun giants and fell, hard, for their translator. He said he loved her, but his wife's surprise visit made him show his true colors.

And so it went. She visited Luna whenever she felt like ending it all, and let her old friend soothe the hurts. Luna worked from home now as a private researcher for the Dept. of Mysteries. She was very good at her job, according to Hermione (and Hermione was never wrong about things like that).

It wasn't until her latest boyfriend nearly killed her in a lover's tiff that she knew something needed to change. She'd always been attracted to strong men, to danger. Her girlhood dabbling with the Dark Lord via Tom Riddle's diary had sown the seeds of her self-destructive tastes years ago. She asked Luna what she thought she should do.

Luna had a sip of her chamomile and then said, as simply as stating the weather, "I think you should marry me, Ginny."

"What?" she wasn't sure she'd heard right.

"I was going to suggest moving in with me so that I could look out for you better, but that wouldn't really solve the problem. Your physical needs will rear their heads soon enough, and then you'll go out trying to find someone to satisfy them and only get hurt again. I am willing to satisfy those needs, as I do care for you very much, but I don't believe in doing those sorts of things without a major commitment."

She was almost prim as she finished her argument. Ginny mindlessly picked up a biscuit and chewed it. She swallowed, not tasting the ginger. Her mind was spinning and her instincts didn't know what kind of urge to give her, so she tuned them out. Her heart, so long ignored in favor of something lower, beneath her stomach, whispered to her in the stillness what she really wanted. What she needed.

Strong again, she looked up and made direct eye contact. Luna smiled mistily at her, silently saying that they would still be friends no matter what came out of Ginny's mouth.

"You know what? I think I will. I will marry you, Luna. When's the wedding?"

Luna scratched her head, looking out the window at her collection of windchimes. She hummed a little, thinking, "Why don't you tell your mother first? If she approves of me, then I shall formally ask your father for your hand in holy matrimony and then we'll think about setting a date."

Ginny couldn't hold in a laugh then, and burst into giggles and guffaws. Luna chortled quietly, musically, and took her hand across the table.

It was to be the strangest marriage her family had ever seen, and she had some stiff competition, but in the end they were accepted. Ginny's aimless ways melted away and she found a sort of quiet bedrock of character beneath the algae of heartbreak. And Luna was at the center of it all.

~000~

End Aimless


	27. Chapter 27

**Adolescence**

In adolescence Teddy Lupin was all sweaty palms and awkward limbs and animal instincts that did battle with his hormones every damned minute. He looked back on those years of change and discovery with horror, happy that they were behind him now. Louis Weasley was a different duck. He seemed to spring up from the ground like a graceful sprite with no signs of awkwardness at all. There were no gangly limbs, no too-big hands or spotted skin.

Teddy envied him, but couldn't help admiring him too. Out of all of the people he considered his cousins, blood-related or not, he'd always got on the best with Louis. Even though Louis was a good deal younger than him, when they were alone together they felt like equals.

Louis wasn't an adolescent anymore though. He'd turned 21 last month, and they'd been room mates since Louis graduated a year early in the tradition of his family. All three of Bill Weasley's kids were Ravenclaws, and so smart it was terrifying. At least Louis didn't stare at him with too-pretty eyes and ask very invasive questions about his wolf side like his sisters Victoire and Dominique did.

Teddy was slouched on the sofa watching their adapted Muggle TV with half-lidded eyes, a beer balanced on his stomach. It was a Saturday night, and most of his co-workers would be out on dates or at parties, but there was only one person he'd ever cared about like that and they didn't know it. And he didn't do parties.

Louis came bustling out of his room, dressed nicer than usual and smelling of soap and cologne.

"Aren't you going tonight?"

Teddy didn't look away from the TV, a wry smile twisting his lips, "No- no one invites me to bloody parties. I'm a social leper; haven't you heard?"

Louis laughed and began to tug on the shoulder of his shirt, pulling the fabric taut, "Come on; get up. Invited or not, you're coming. I talked to Uncle Harry, and he agrees that you need to stop moping your youth away and have some fun. We both know you were a veritable hermit back in school, so don't bullshit me about already having had enough fun for one lifetime. I know you're not a teenager anymore, but it's never too late to behave like one."

Teddy groaned and let himself be dragged over to the Floo, if only to save his shirt from Louis stretching it out of shape forever.

Basil's party was exactly as he expected it to be. Basil was a friend of Louis from work, and a bit of an ass. But he threw parties that were generally enjoyed by the younger crowd, so his idiocies were tolerated. It took an hour of shouting to be heard over music and drinking poorly-done jungle juice for him to get fed up and seek solitude outside. He tripped over a fornicating couple in the garden, apologized, and walked farther into the back yard. There were trees here, separating Basil's house from his neighbors. They were old, older than the suburb that'd grown up around them.

After a moment, he lay down beneath it and lit a cigarette, looking up at the stars through the branches. He thought about his job, about his family in all its complexity. He thought about Louis.

The grass rustled as someone approached, and he turned his head towards them, lazily raising a hand half in greeting, half to make sure they would see him and not step on his face by mistake. It was Louis, his long blonde hair haloed from behind by the glow of the house. He was more beautiful than usual, something Teddy had thought impossible.

He snorted, amused to find Teddy outside instead of socializing, but made no comment. He joined him on the ground beneath the spreading branches of the oak, grass tickling his pale cheeks. Louis stared up at the leaves and Teddy stared at his profile. The feminine mouth, Romanesque brow and sculpted nose with cheeks to match; it was the face of a god, or someone famous at least.

Teddy had long stopped envying Louis' looks and turned to admiring them instead.

Finally Louis sighed and asked in a voice roughened by alcohol, "Do you ever wish that it was just us and the people we love on earth?"

Teddy blinked, "In what way?"

"Like, if everyone else was just…gone. No more queues, no more crowds. Just a handful of people left in the world. I used to wish for that all the time when I was at school; the noise, the other students…they irritated me. Even my family wears on me most of the time. But you…you're different. If I could only have one person with me on earth, it would be you."

"Not a girl?" Teddy asked softly, Louis' words fanning the flickers of hope in his chest and stomach. He didn't want to start hoping for something that was never going to happen. This was the closest he'd ever come to finding out how _much _Louis cared about him.

Louis looked away from the stars, turning his head to smile at Teddy through the blue-grey smoke of his cigarette, "What would I do with a girl?"

Teddy tried to stutter something out, but Louis was touching his face now and leaning in and Teddy felt like a teenager again.

But in a good way.

~000~

End Adolescence


	28. Chapter 28

**Academic**

Horace Slughorn liked to keep tabs on students that showed special intelligence, be it in potions or some other subject. He did this partly because he preferred their company to their peers, and partly because intelligence was often a clear indicator of a future politician or other influential person. It was best to sow the seeds of camaraderie when they were young, and collect the fruits later when they had something constructive to offer him. Some potion ingredients were hard to come by.

For the most part he was able to remain emotionally aloof and clinical while giving the impression of warmth and closeness to his students. All except the Slytherins were fooled by his act, so he reluctantly forced real feeling into his dealings with the Snake House.

There was just one pupil that stood out from all those young prodigies, a bright spark in a dull, glowing fire.

Horace admired for his social grace, his aptitude in anything he set his mind to, and his enticing personality. He came to admire Tom as more than a pupil. His feelings were inappropriate so he hid them as best as he could, but they showed in other ways. He always sat Tom beside him, and gave him the first pick of any academic journals he subscribed to. He could never say no to him, no matter what he wanted.

He knew he never should've told him about the Horcruxes that one fateful day, but Tom assured him his interest was academic. And Horace couldn't forbid him that knowledge. He carried the guilt for the rest of his life, but the torch of what could only be described as lasting infatuation burned strong in his chest.

He could only pray that Tom never confronted him or asked anything of him now. He didn't know if he would be able to resist.

~000~

End Academic

Is this a new pairing? I don't know.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: To asperse is to spread unkind rumors about someone.

**Asperse**

Daphne Greengrass was her father's favorite daughter. She looked just like her mother, who he loved still despite her premature death. She was given first choice of everything and trained to think like an attorney and talk like a politician from early childhood, as was tradition. Her younger sister Astoria was largely left to her own devices.

She was a good daughter, but a neglectful sister. She never said more than a few words to Astoria their entire childhoods. They even occupied separate wings of their ancestral home. She considered Astoria frivolous and juvenile, and unworthy of her attention and time. Astoria wasn't important. She could mind her own affairs while Daphne attended to those of their family after her father's death in the Second War.

Because of this, it came as an intense shock to her when Astoria dropped into her private study where she was organizing a fresh set of investments in the Jotun giants and announced that she would be leaving then. She asked where, simply out of politeness, and was told,

"I'm going to live with the Malfoy's for the next month to help plan the wedding, and then obviously I won't be coming back."

"Who's getting married?"

"Draco and I."

And Daphne was struck speechless. Somehow her pathetic, passive younger sister had managed to go behind her back and snag the man she'd had her eyes on since Hogwarts. He was rich, influential, and on nodding terms with the Minister himself. No one else would do as her husband.

She attended the wedding and was so polite to everyone there that she knew Astoria's new mother-in-law would invite her around for dinner within the week.

And at that dinner party she began to sow the first seeds of doubt about her sister's character. She made herself comfortable in Lady Malfoy's good graces, and from there spread poisonous, insidious little lies. She befriended Draco, and sowed fears of infidelity in his unsuspecting ears.

It wasn't two years before Draco divorced Astoria on charges of adultery with her male cousin Alfred. He took custody of their child Scorpius and legally forbid Astoria from ever laying eyes on him again.

Daphne began slowly merging her investments and the various companies she had control over with those of the Malfoys. She waited patiently until Scorpius was old enough to go to school before she made a move on his father.

Draco didn't know what hit him, but he married her a year after she pulled a move on New Year's Day.

Her father would be proud.

~000~

End Asperse


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: For those that are wondering, an allocution is like a formal speech.

**Allocution**

The door to Harry's office in the Dept. of Mysteries slammed open, banging into the wall behind it. Harry looked up from his extremely long to-do list, mouth full of chocolate croissant. He choked on it when he saw who was striding into his office as though he belonged there, all fancy robes and shiny boots and glorious expensive cologne. Draco Malfoy in all his beauty, still as blond and aristocratic as Harry remembered him being since yesterday when they ended up in the same lift together.

Hacking, he swiped at his watering eyes and finally croaked out, "What the hell do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy opened his mouth, frowned, closed it, paused, and then opened his robes to dig in the pocket of the well-tailored trousers he wore beneath. Harry resolutely did not look at his shapely thighs. He was done admiring all the shapely bits of Malfoy, finished. Malfoy groaned, obviously not finding what he was looking for in his trouser pocket.

Puzzled now, Harry repeated his earlier question.

"Just a minute, damn you! I know I've got those cards around here somewhere…" Malfoy's terse response died away as he patted himself down, looking lost.

"Cards?" Harry frowned, taking a cautious nibble of his croissant. He didn't want to risk choking again, should Malfoy say or do something shocking. "Like, Exploding Snap cards? Those could've exploded without you noticing. Is there black ash in your pocket? That could be them."

Malfoy glanced up through blonde eyelashes long enough to give him a scowl that clearly said how much Harry wasn't helping and then knelt to dip a hand into his boots. Coming up with nothing, he cursed and made to leave. Harry quickly swallowed the rest of his usual mid-morning snack and yelled, "Oi! Where do you think you're going?"

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy snapped, "I don't have my speech cards. I'll come back later, after I've re-written everything I was going to say to you."

"But I'm leaving the office in an hour; I've got a meeting. Can't you just give me a summary? It can't be _so _important that you keep the wording in an exact format. I'm not an English teacher, you know. You won't get graded on grammar. Lord knows I barely manage that sort of thing myself."

"Well, if you're sure…" for the first time in their long, long acquaintance, Harry saw Malfoy give him a genuine smile. It was a small one, and a little shy, but it was lovely all the same. Harry's breath hitched. He hoped Malfoy hadn't noticed.

Malfoy cleared his throat, stood up straighter than he already was, and announced in the same formal tone he used when addressing the Wizengamot (he was, rather fittingly, a lawyer), "Mr. Harry Potter, holder of too many titles to speak of and overall decent chap as well as savior of the world as we know it, I, Draco Malfoy and humble admirer, do profess my undying affection for you; and would like the honor of your company over a meal on a date that is convenient for you."

Harry blinked. Neither of them spoke for a full minute, until Harry asked, in a very small voice, if Draco would be so kind as to repeat the last bit of that speech.

"I fancy you. Would you like to go out, on a date, with me?"

Harry gaped, and then nodded vigorously. At very least it would give him a splendid opportunity to admire Malfoy (or Draco now, really) as much as he liked. And oh, was there much to admire.

Draco really did smile this time, and approached the edge of Harry's desk. Harry stood, a little breathless. When the kiss came, it landed on his cheek. That was a little disappointing, but Harry supposed they would have plenty of time to fix that later.

"I'll, um, see you later."

Harry just nodded again, and stared at his back as he left. He sank slowly back into his seat.

~000~

End Allocution

This is sort of connected to the first drabble But not really.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: It's been fun, my readers! I present you with the final October drabble, done in honor of Halloween. If you haven't reviewed yet and want to, be it to comment or insult me, PLEASE REVIEW NOW. Thanks!

**Accordion**

Cedric had made his peace with being dead. Sure, it happened many decades before he'd been expecting it to happen. Sure he was murdered by one of the most evil wizards to ever live, and he never got a chance to say goodbye to his family.

But those were problems for the living, and he was no ghost. He was as dead as dead could be. That fact alone proved to him that his work on earth was done. Immediately after his decease, he'd passed through some kind of judging system, too disoriented to notice much more than a crocodile-headed woman reaching into his chest cavity to take his heart and weigh it. He could only guess he'd passed their test, because he was in a pleasant place now.

There were trees, spaced too far apart to be a forest, of every kind known to man. There were little pools of water, mountains in the distance, and beyond them an endless body of water. The sky spun blue and cloudless overhead. There was no night here.

He tried not to miss the stars, but it was hard. He'd always enjoyed star-gazing, and now he would never do so again. He'd made some friends, and spoken to all of his ancestors. When Severus Snape, his old potions professor, showed up, they nodded awkwardly at one another but otherwise operated in separate circles.

He was happy.

And then one day he heard something other than the quiet murmur of voices and birdsong that permeated the afterlife. It was such a strange sound that it took him a while to recognize it. It was the sound of an accordion. With nothing else to do, he wandered around until he found the source of it. It emanated from a shallow puddle of iridescent water that he'd never seen before. He looked around, found no one, and then cautiously leaned over to put his ear closer to the water.

A small white hand reached through the pool and grabbed him by the ear. He didn't have time to shout before he was yanked through the water and landed heavily in a heap. Blinking, he wondered why he was on hardwood floor. Furthermore, why was he…solid?

He felt his hands, his face, his feet; it all felt deliciously real.

And then he registered the sound of the accordion. Turning his head towards it, he found a small blonde person dwarfed by the instrument in her lap. She had her eyes closed as she pressed the keys, an expression of serenity on her heart-shaped face. And then she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Hello Mr. Diggory."

He opened his mouth and then discovered that he couldn't remember how to work his vocal cords. He just nodded.

"I apologize for the short notice, but you weren't who I was expecting."

He tilted his head, and she explained,

"My name is Luna Lovegood. I was trying to contact my mother; the song I was playing was her favorite, you see," one small hand left the strap of her instrument to twirl into the long strands of beads woven into her blonde hair. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see that she was sitting on part of her hair.

He dragged his eyes away from a sparkling quill tangled in the hair behind her ear. "Ah," he choked out, his voice rusty and unfamiliar to his ears.

"It's too bad…" she mused, now staring at the ceiling, where a collection of chandeliers hung, draped with ribbons and dried flowers, "I was only allowed to bring one person back."

"Sorry," he croaked.

She set the accordion on the floor and padded over to sit beside him, hugging her knees. She didn't take her eyes off the ceiling.

"Can you watch us from Gehenna?"

He frowned, "Gehenna?"

"The underworld."

"Oh…um, I don't know. I never tried."

"Hm. Well, you're free to go. I'll see if I can use a Morphean amulet to contact my mother," she made a little shoo-ing motion, finally looking away from the ceiling to meet his eyes. He was mesmerized. He had no idea how old she was; she had one of those faces that could be very young or very old.

He didn't move. She shrugged and dug into the pocket of her apron, removing a small ivory flask. He smelled Whiskey, which he used to drink after Quidditch games with his school mates. She offered it to him.

"I guess you can stay if you want to…" she sighed out while he drank, grateful for moisture of any kind on his throat.

"I'd like that."

~000~

End Accordion

End Stories Beginning in 'A'

Note: I enjoyed this so much; I have decided to do it again. Except, you know, without the contest thing. Look for tomorrow's update in 'Stories Beginning in E'.

Also, I know that many of you expressed mixed opinions in your reviews. Please understand that this was extremely likely considering the breadth of what I wrote. I cannot guarantee that I will write your favorite pairings, nor will I pander to sensitive readers. If you have a complaint, feel free to let me know, but please understand that I am unlikely to do anything about it.


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